“What?”
I cock my head. “Get you a ring.”
23
Brooke
“Get you a what?” Emi’s shriek echoes across Sweet Water Park. A couple of birds rustle in the branches, then squaw out of the trees. I’d asked Emi to meet me at the river this morning so I could fill her in on my fake-wedding plan. When she offered to bring cantaloupe and orange juice, I bought bagels.
Because fruit isn’t breakfast.
“A ring,” I say, smearing a layer of cream cheese over half a sesame bagel. “I promised Mac we’d go shopping for one right after I told my maid of honor.” I lift an eyebrow. “So. Where did Travis buy your ring?”
“I … we … he …” Emi’s jaw drops and she leans over the picnic table. “You’re telling me, Mac actually offered to marry you?”
I freeze with a bagel halfway to my mouth. “Oh my gosh, Em. Of course not!”
Her look of confusion floods me with guilt. It’s one thing to fool my parents. They deserve it. Emi’s innocent.
I cringe. “I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”
“I mean, I thought you were kidding.” She exhales and takes a sip of her orange juice. “But you have been doing some pretty wacky things lately.”
“How dare you?” I put a hand to my chest, feigning shock. “I’m always doing wacky things. But Mac and I are only pretending we eloped to get rid of my parents.”
I bite into my bagel. Emi just sits there, studying my face.
“What?” I ask.
She points at my lip. “You’ve got a little something there.”
“Ah.” A blob of cream cheese. That’s why Emi was staring. I thought she was thinking about talking me out of our pretend elopement. A part of me was hoping she’d try. The other part, though …
“So.” She scoops some melon on her plate. “Are you sure Mac knows you’re only pretending to be a couple?”
“Yep.” I nod. “Actually, the fake marriage thing was his idea.” A family of ducks waddles up to us from the river. Two big ducks followed by four ducklings. I break off pieces of bagel to toss at them. “Trust me,” I say. “There will be no real diamonds between Mac Bradford and me. Now or ever.”
“Hm.” Emi tilts her head. “You know your mom can spot a fake a mile away.”
“Even better.” The ducks quack for more bagel, so I throw a whole handful of bites back toward the water. “She’ll absolutely lose her mind thinking that some guy proposed to me with two carats of glass. It’ll be even more horrifying than when she didn’t win best actress last year.”
“Wow, Brooke.” Emi pokes at a cantaloupe chunk. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Hey.” I raise a hand in protest. “Do not feel bad for Lenore. She brought this on herself by making us feel terrible about ourselves. All those dinners she bribed us with in college. You know she only had us over so she could judge everything we did. Relentlessly.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” Emi smirks. “She only criticized our choice of majors. And our hair. And our shoes. Our makeup. My long-distance boyfriend.”
“The one who is now your fiancé.”
“Exactly.” Emi pops the top back on the Tupperware of melon. “I can only imagine what your mom would say about the inadequate menu Travis and I picked for our reception.”
“I can tell you exactly what she’d say.” I put on my snootiest voice. “Robert, what is this main course monstrosity? Chicken and rice pilaf?” I sniff and lift my nose in the air. For extra snootiness. “Where are the caviar appetizers? The lobster and filet mignon? I must tell you, Robert, this lack of selection is simply appalling.”
Emi laughs. “That’s good news for me then. Travis insisted we have a buffet.” She checks her phone. “I thought maybe he would’ve texted by now. We’re supposed to test cake flavors at The Bread Basket today. You want to come with us?”
I scrunch up my nose. “And be tortured by crumbs of cake instead of a whole piece? No way. Anyway, Mac’s helping me move my stuff over to his place this afternoon. Then tomorrow, we’ll be giving our first performance as Mr. and Mrs. Mac Bradford.” I pretend to bow over the picnic table.
Emi narrows her eyes. “You mean your first and last performance, right?”
“Right. Of course. That’s what I meant.”
“In that case, bravo.” She applauds while I bow again.
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“So what happens after?” she asks.
“After what?”
A wrinkle creases her forehead. “You and Mac can’t stay pretend-married forever.”
“Oh, that.” I swallow. A piece of bagel must be stuck in my throat. “Once my parents go back home, I’ll just tell them Mac and I got an annulment.”
“Aww.” Emi makes a pretend pouty face and waves at me. “Bye, bye, Fake Mrs. Bradford.”
“I prefer arrivederci,” I say. “What’s the point of learning Italian if you’re going to miss opportunities like that?” I force out a laugh, but there’s a twinge in my stomach. I probably need more bagel.
Emi glances at her phone again. “Hmm.”
“No Travis yet?”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. This is just what I needed this morning. Some fresh air. Some blue sky. Some alone time with you, away from the library.”
“Me too.” I smile at Emi. “Packing up will be a breeze now.”
“Ugh.” Emi frowns. “Packing is the worst.”
“Okay. Maybe a breeze is too optimistic.”
“Speaking of optimistic.” Emi nods at the ducks approaching our picnic table again.
I look down at them. “Sorry,” I say, “but I’ve already given you half of my bagel.”
Emi snorts. “You’re communicating with ducks now?”
“Are you surprised?” I snort. “That’s probably the least weird thing I’ll be doing today.” The ducklings surround my feet. They’re awfully cute, but I’ve got my priorities. And they start with carbs. “Finito!”
Emi busts out laughing. “They’re not leaving. These must be French ducks.”
When they keep waddling around me, I set down my bagel and quack. Right in their faces. A couple of good, loud honks. The biggest one flaps its wings. Then they all start quacking at me.
Quack. Quack. Quack.
“Hey!” Emi chuckles. “You got them talking. Just like Daisy.”
Just like Daisy.
Eventually the ducks give up and follow each other down a trail to the river. Then all six of them line up along the shore. The mom. The dad. Their four babies.
A little duck family.
Oof.
24
Mac
“Congratulations, Mac!” Tess starts dancing in the middle of my living room. “Pretending you’re married to Brooke is a totally great idea!” She’s doing something I think is called the Floss. Either way, she’s acting so strange, I’m glad Daisy is upstairs. She climbed into my bed this morning with her stuffed turtle and begged to watch Ratatouille.
Good thing I said yes.
Tess pauses in mid-gyration. “I also think having Brooke move in here is super smart!”
Now my sister starts to Moonwalk across the room. I can tell she’s dying for me to ask her what she’s doing.
Which is why I’m not going to.
Heh heh.
“So you really think it’s smart?” I raise an eyebrow. “I was afraid you’d say I’m insane.”
“Why would I do that?” Tess freezes. “What could possibly go wrong?”
She starts to sway, bouncing her weight from one foot to the other. This one’s called the Dougie. What the heck is she doing?
Scratch that. I’m still not asking.
“It’s a pretty big lie,” I say. “Brooke’s parents will think I married their daughter without even meeting them,” I say. “Or asking for their blessing.”
Again Tess freezes. “So what? You’ve already been lying to Brooke. You haven’t e
ven told her your real name.”
“Yeah.” I wince. “There hasn’t been a good time.”
“I totally believe you,” Tess says. “And asking for a woman’s hand in marriage is old fashioned.”
Tess starts to spin in place. Very weird. Also entertaining.
“Then call me old fashioned,” I say. “Because anyone who wants to get near Daisy better ask first. In about thirty years.”
Tess stops spinning and starts to shift into strange poses. She’s Voguing now.
Seriously.
“You’ve sure got a lot of energy today,” I say.
“What are you talking about?” Vogue. Vogue. Vogue.
I shrug. “Nothing in particular.”
She collapses on the couch and gives me the side eye. “Come on. You know you want to ask me.”
“Nope.”
“I’ll tell you anyway.”
“For the record, I didn’t ask.”
“Fine.” She frowns. “But if you think I look crazy now, imagine how crazy you look to me.”
“Ah.” I can practically hear the lightbulb clicking above my head. “I get it. You don’t actually think me fake-marrying Brooke is super smart. You do think I’m insane.”
“You got it, Sherlock Holmes.” Tess pats my knee. “I think Brooke’s really great. And she’s made huge strides with Daisy. Better than anyone else. Definitely better than Tiffany.”
“Hard to do worse than Tiffany.” I smirk. “But you’re right. Brooke’s been amazing. That’s why I want to do her this favor.”
“Pretending to be her husband is more than a favor, Mac. So is having her move in with you.”
“Maybe.” I rub at the back of my neck. “But that’s only until she figures out her apartment situation.”
Tess crosses her arms. “Didn’t Brooke tell you she quit teaching because she doesn’t like kids? How’s that going to work out for you and Daisy if she’s living with you?”
“That’s the good news,” I say. “I found out the real reason Brooke left was to get away from her parents. And since Mom’s not coming back, maybe Brooke will stay on and help out with Daisy.”
“Oh, Mac.” Tess lays a hand on my shoulder. “You always focus on Daisy. But you’re the one I’m worried about.”
“Why?” A knot coils in my stomach.
“Think hard. Why would this be a risky idea? Not for Daisy. For you.”
I stare at my lap, mulling. Then, suddenly, Brooke’s face pops into my head. Her wide smile. The smell of strawberries. The way she lets Daisy climb all over her. The way I sometimes wish she’d climb into my arms too.
Yeah. Okay. This might not be good for me.
“I guess if Brooke moves in with us full-time, I could eventually develop feelings for her.”
“Could? Eventually?” Tess snorts. “I saw you with her, Mac. You were all giddy and grinny for the first time in a long time. Maybe the first time ever. Anyone can see it. I’ll bet even Daisy knows. And if Daisy knows … well …”
“Wait.” Oh no, no, no. “Are you saying … do you think … does Brooke think I’m interested … in her?”
Hey. Nice stammering, man. Really excellent.
“I’m saying you’re half in love with her already, and if you don’t know that, you might be the only one who doesn’t.”
“Okay.” I clear my poor, constricted throat. “You might be right. It’s possible I already care about Brooke.”
“Listen to yourself.” Tess laughs. “I’m absolutely right.”
My gut flips over and my pulse quickens. The sensation isn’t all terrible.
Maybe this is what real love feels like. Quick and rolling.
Rolling toward Brooke.
“All right.” I look Tess in the eye. “Let’s say I do have feelings for Brooke.”
“I already said that.”
“Let’s say you’re the smart one who saw this coming.”
“I definitely am.”
“Okay. Now what?”
Tess smiles. “I’m glad you asked.”
25
Brooke
The thing I figure out while packing up my stuff is that I don’t have much more in my apartment than I do in my library locker. Since the place came furnished, most of the things here belong to the complex. So by the time I get my paltry wardrobe and shoe collection shoved into a couple of suitcases, I’m basically down to my Sponge Bob lunchbox.
Pretty sad, Brooke.
Even sadder is what I find in the back of my closet. I forgot it was in there.
My baby book. Ugh.
I found it the day I moved to Apple Valley. I’d stopped by my parents’ house—correction: their mansion—when I knew for sure they’d both be on set. I didn’t want them to catch me searching through their cabinets for a spare set of sheets to borrow. (Take. Steal. Whatever.)
The baby book was on a shelf next to six of their wedding albums.
Yes, six.
I left the albums, but I took the book. I’m not sure why. I’ve never even flipped through the thing before. Now, three months later, I’m sitting on this rented bed, holding the book in my lap.
It’s like a time bomb. A soft, pink time bomb.
What are you waiting for, Brooke? It’s not going to explode.
When I finally pry the book open, the cover is so stiff it creaks. I guess this baby book hasn’t gotten a whole lot of action, which is less shocking than the fact that my mom took the time to make one in the first place.
My surprise ends as soon as I scan the first several pages. They’re filled with glamor photos of Lenore in the most impractical maternity outfits ever created. Feathers. Sequins. Tiaras. She even pasted in a copy of her original acting head shots from 1985. How old would she have been then? Younger than I am now. I lower my face inches from the page, like I might somehow connect with her by sheer proximity.
Guess what? It doesn’t work.
But I do catch a whiff of Shalimar. It’s her signature perfume. The smell must be in my head, though. There’s no way my mom’s touched this book in decades.
Flipping through more pages, I finally arrive at my birth announcement. The card is so fancy it’s practically gold-plated. Wait. Maybe that is real gold. At least around the edges. My name and vital statistics are listed. But the rest of the announcement is dominated by a shiny banner with a string of tiny pearls draped across it:
Lenore and Robert Wallace Are Pleased to Announce the Birth of Their First Child.
Yep. This totally tracks. Even me being born was all about them.
I was always an accessory, but not anymore. I’m stepping out from under their Hollywood shadows for good.
“Brooke?” A deep voice sounds in the other room. “Are you here?”
“Mac!” I lost track of time. “Hold on. I’ll be right out.”
With the baby book clutched to my chest, I head into the living room. Mac is in the doorway, ducking. He’s so big he makes my place look like Lilliput. I guess that makes him Gulliver.
With tousled hair and smiling eyes.
“How’s the packing going?”
“Great.” That’s all I can squeak out because Mac looks so good my lungs deflate. He’s wearing jeans, but not the beat-up denim from his days at work. These are a darker wash and perfectly fitted. Instead of a T-shirt, he’s wearing a Henley shirt in a shade I’d call tangerine. Not a lot of people can pull this color off, but Mac’s got the shoulders, chest, and arms for it. He’s all smooth, taut muscle. And he’s smiling at me.
Ladies and gentleman, meet my perfect, fake husband.
“I’ve got errands to run if I’m too early,” he says. “I have to get Daisy a new pair of pink tights. She has a hole in the toe of her old ones.”
I can’t imagine anything cuter than Mac buying tights for Daisy.
Not even ducklings.
His eyes crinkle. “I already got one big errand out of the way before I came here.” He digs in the front pocket of his jeans. When he p
ulls his hand out and opens his palm, something winks at me in the sunlight.
“The ring! You got it already?”
He bobs his head. “Hope you don’t mind.”
I shrug like I’m nonchalant, but I can’t wait to see the ring up close. “It’s not like we were going to go to a jeweler and pick out a real diamond.”
He shuffles his feet. “So am I allowed to come in now?”
“Ha! Yes. Please do.” I laugh nervously and take a step backward, motioning Mac inside. After setting the baby book on the coffee table, I turn and gesture around the room. “Welcome to my humble abode.” I nod at the ring and my pulse kicks up a notch. “Does the cubic zirconia look pretty realistic?”
“See for yourself.” Mac comes toward me, the ring cupped in his palm. It doesn’t come in a cute little Tiffany blue box like the rings my dad gives my mom. Apple Valley doesn’t have a jeweler that fancy. In fact, the only real engagement rings I’ve seen are at a shop called ’Til Death Do Us Part. They also sell wedding dresses and offer discount packages if you buy everything for your ceremony in bulk.
Mac hands me the ring and our fingers brush. Zap! Pow! Bam!
The zing of his touch races up my arm, down my spine, through my whole body.
Calm down, Brooke. This is your pretend husband and your artificial diamond.
Don’t get too excited.
He lowers his gaze, almost shyly, which is funny, since none of this is real. “I went with a small emerald cut. Hope that’s okay. I didn’t think you’d be the giant solitaire type.”
I lift the ring to examine the details. For a fake, this sure is beautiful. My stomach flips over, and my heart throbs extra hard.
Stop it, heart.
Luckily, I keep those words in my head. What I say out loud is, “It’s perfect.”
His eyes go wide. “You like it?”
I quickly backtrack so I don’t seem too excited. This is a charade after all. “It’s the perfect ring to freak out my mom. You know. With the stone being so small.”
When I say this, Mac’s jaw shifts and he straightens his shoulders.
The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1) Page 14
